


it's born from just one single glance

by BlueRobinWrites



Series: The Music Made Me Do It [9]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25603072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRobinWrites/pseuds/BlueRobinWrites
Summary: A departure from our usual fare...I hope you'll give it a chance.
Relationships: Matthew Cunliffe/Robin Ellacott, Matthew Cunliffe/Sarah Shadlock
Series: The Music Made Me Do It [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668514
Comments: 41
Kudos: 25





	1. august

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter inspired by _august_ by Taylor Swift, from her new album _folklore_.
> 
> You can find the lyric video for it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nn_0zPAfyo8).

_But I can see us lost in the memory  
August slipped away into a moment in time_

In the fall out, after Robin discovered our affair, I waffled between coming clean with Tom. I had no way of knowing if Robin would do it for me, before I could, or if she’d stick to her pattern of running and hiding when she was hurt. 

I had no way of knowing what she’d do. 

And I didn’t care. 

What I did know though, was that I wanted Matthew. 

But that was nothing new.

I’d always wanted Matthew. 

From the first time I saw him in the library, my first week at the University of Bath, I’d known I was meant to be with him. 

Even now I can remember the way his light brown hair had looked as I’d approached him, tousled and flopping in his face as he bent over his book. 

Feel the burn of his hazel eyes raking over my fitted vest top, hesitating for just a moment at the hint of cleavage. When he flicked his gaze back up to meet mine there was a glitter of appreciation shining in them, and an admiring smile on his perfect lips.

Just as I’d hoped. 

I hadn’t needed to study. I’d only been wandering the university, trying to learn my way around, but I’d smiled and tossed my waist length hair over my shoulder, and asked if I could join him. 

I’d gotten the yes I’d expected, along with another quick glance at my breasts as I leaned over to sit down. 

I hadn’t yet learned to be subtle then. 

He’d been so beautiful as he’d grinned at me and asked my name. 

“Sarah,” I’d answered, “Sarah Shadlock. You?”

He’d held out his hand, boosting himself slightly out of his chair, so I’d had to do the same to meet him across the wide table, once again leaning over, and his eyes had, once again, grazed my neckline. 

“Matthew Cunliffe. What year are you?”

“I’m in my first. You?”

“Same.”

We’d spent the rest of the afternoon asking and answering questions about each other. I’d learned that he wanted to be an accountant and shared that I was hoping to use the Art History degree I was there to obtain, to get a position at Christie’s, after graduation. 

It had been a dream since I’d been a child and my mother had taken me on a tour. The expensive art and furniture all glinting like the treasures they were. 

I’d realized I could study art when I stood there, breathing in the rarefied air, surrounded by beauty of the kind I’d never be able to create. 

Unfortunately, I had no artistic ability of my own, aside from being able to skillfully apply makeup and style my hair so that the boys noticed. 

And they always noticed. 

We’d left the library together that night, and he’d walked me back to my halls. 

He’d never mentioned that he had a girlfriend. 

I didn’t find that out until a few weeks later, when she rang him while we were at the Hall and Woodhouse. He’d taken me there to celebrate acing our midterms. 

Even then he was sweet and considerate. He’d chosen Hall and Woodhouse out of deference to me. It had once been an auction house and had been made over into a very posh restaurant and bar. I hadn’t known that until he’d lifted his glass of beer to me once we’d been seated.

“To Sarah, and her first aced uni exam, and a future of working in auction houses like this one. Though let’s hope Christies doesn’t have to be made into a restaurant, eh?”

I’d thought he’d been so sweet to toast to my future.

But then, Robin had made her appearance when he’d left his phone on the table while he’d popped to the loo. 

It had rung and I’d looked at it, planning to answer if it had been Tom, because we three had become fast friends in the first few weeks of classes and he was always trying to find us, wherever we were.

But it hadn’t been Tom. 

“Um. Robin called,” I’d said, when he’d come back to the table. And I’d watched his eyes dart guiltily to the phone and back to my face. And I knew.

“That’s your girlfriend then?”

He’d nodded. 

“She's back in Masham?”

He’d shaken his head, saying that she was at her own university, and that she’d been planning to come visit him in Bath for our break. 

And there was nothing left for me to do but pretend.

I’d pretended to care. Asking questions about her and how long they’d been together and how they’d met. 

I’d pretended that the couple kisses we’d shared, since meeting in August, hadn’t meant anything to me. 

Inside, though, I was dying. 

And when I went back to my rooms that night, I cried myself to sleep. 

And woke the next morning and decided that I hated this Robin. 

As I’d put on my makeup, carefully blending my eyeshadow in a way I’d never been able to achieve with paint on canvas, I decided that she was ugly, short and squat. 

And clingy. 

And he’d decided that I was who he wanted to replace her with. 

By the time I’d left for my first class that day, I’d convinced myself that he was going to dump her when she came to visit, and that’s why he hadn’t told me about her. 

He knew he wanted me instead.

But she’d come. 

And she’d been curvy, but in the right way.

And her hair had been nearly as long as mine, but bronze and wavy and thick, instead of nearly white and stick straight unless forced to curl by a heated iron. 

I _hated_ her _._

She was so nice and friendly to everyone. Her smile was bright and it was clear that she adored Matthew. 

I watched everything she did. 

The way she smiled at him, and held his hand in hers.

The way he put his arm around her when we were walking in Royal Victoria Park, her first night in Bath. He’d delighted in holding her to his side, and murmuring in her ear, provoking her giggles. They should have been annoying, but they weren’t, even her giggles were sweet. 

It had been clear she loved him.

And even more clear that he had no plans to break up with her. 

I hid for the rest of her visit. 

I didn’t go to our usual haunts and I didn’t take his calls. 

Nor Tom’s. 

For the first time in my life my heart had been completely broken. And I knew I had to figure out how to hide it before she left and I had to see him again. 

Because I wasn’t giving up. 

When she’d left, I’d waited. 

He’d stopped calling me on the third night. Guessing, correctly, that I was hurt. 

And how could I not be?

He’d kissed me multiple times. 

He’d taken me out at least twice a week since we’d met.

Granted, he hadn’t called them dates, “Hey, wanna go get something to eat?” he’d ask, as we’d finish studying for the day.

But how could I not think they were dates? 

So I spent a week, hiding, licking my wounds. 

He’d finally tracked me down, waiting outside one of the buildings I’d had a lecture in.

“I’m sorry Sarah. Really,” he’d been so sweet, his shoulders slumping in obvious guilt. “I didn’t mean to make you think…” he trailed off as he peeked at me, through his floppy hair, trying to gauge my reaction. 

I’d already decided to forgive him. 

I’d talked it out with my best friend Maureen, and she’d said he’d probably gotten caught up in being in a new environment, filled with pretty girls. And this had made perfect sense. I knew Masham was a tiny little town and he’d told Tom and me that Robin had been the only pretty girl in their school. So of course he’d be flattered by attention from someone else, especially if Robin was nowhere around to keep his attention on her. 

In understanding this, I realized I still had a chance. 

But first, he was going to grovel. 

“I don’t understand why you’d…” I started, making sure there’d been a small catch in my throat, a hint of tears that might make an appearance. 

He rushed to reassure me, “I know. I should never have kissed you. And I’m so sorry. I just...wasn’t thinking,” he took my hand, rubbing his thumb across the top. He bent down, trying to catch my eyes. 

But I refused to look at him. 

He was very nearly begging and I wanted to hear it. It would assuage the pain he’d caused me. 

“Can you forgive me?”

“So you’re staying with her?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Does she know about me?”

“Yes. And no. She doesn’t know anything except you’re my friend and Tom has a crush on you.”

“Wait! What? He does?!” I suppose I should have known, but I’d been so focused on Matthew that I hadn’t given a thought to Tom.

He confirmed this, vehemently. 

And I still don’t know if his intention had been to deflect me. 

To try to pawn me off on Tom. 

Tom Turvey, the loveable idiot. 

Blond and bland, but kind and sweet. Always standing when I approached them, like a gentleman in one of the period pieces the BBC was always showing. 

It had never occurred to me that Tom was a viable option.

Until then. 

Obviously I forgave Matthew. I couldn’t help it. 

That’s what you do when you love someone. 

Right?

But I refocused my attention on Tom. 

He was planning to be a lawyer, which was even better than an accountant. And more importantly, he didn’t have a girlfriend waiting for him at home.

He was handsome, in his own way.

Blonde, blue eyes and the kind of build that indicated he’d be portly in later years.

He was perfectly nice, if a bit stuffy. 

But I could work with that. 

I spent the next few weeks being subtly flirty with Tom, touching his shoulder softly, as I slipped into the chair he’d inevitably give up for me, smiling a little longer and sweeter than I normally would have as I thanked him. 

I made sure to answer all of his calls, especially in front of Matthew and to always ask Matthew where he was when he wasn’t already wherever we were meeting. Then, when he inevitably showed up, because he was a moth to flame at this point, I’d hug him, adding kisses on the cheeks and an, “I’m so glad you’re here...You should tell Matt what you were telling me last night, about…” and I’d choose a topic that I knew Tom knew loads about, just to give him an opportunity to look good to me, in front of Matthew. 

In less than a month Tom was _panting_ at my heels. 

It wasn’t difficult to nudge him toward asking me out.

To kissing me.

To calling me _his_ Sarah in front of Matthew. 

“Do you see how lovely my Sarah looks today Matt?” he’d preen, proud to be seen with me. “She must be the most beautiful Sarah to have ever been born.” 

He really was a sweetheart.

And I delighted in seeing the way Matthew’s eyes would narrow fractionally every time Tom touched me. 

I loved catching Matthew’s eye after Tom kissed me in front of him. Almost daring him to say anything. 

To object. 

Wishing he’d object. 

Hoping.

I was always hoping. 

But the year passed, and we all went home for Christmas. 

Matthew went back to Robin, and I went back to London, and avoided all mention of Tom or Matthew to my mum, who was very curious about boys at school, instead of how my classes had gone.

But I’d always been an A student, so I suppose she had no reason to be worried about that. 

Still, I didn’t want to tell her about Matthew, or Tom. I didn’t think she’d appreciate the way I was using Tom to make Matthew jealous. She was kind hearted, Mum, even despite the acrimoniousness of her divorce from Dad. 

And it was obvious that he _was_ jealous. 

“Are you going to visit _Tom’s_ family?” he’d asked, as he’d sat on my bed, watching me pack my jumpers and jeans, preparing for the journey back to London. 

“Maybe. Probably,” I’d equivocated. “I’ll have to wait and see what my mum has planned. Dad won’t be a problem, he never is.” 

I glanced over at him, “Why do you ask?” 

“I’m just curious about good old Tom’s family,” he snickered. “Do you think they’re all like him? So,” he affected a posh, uppercrust accent. “Dahling, do come sit and have some tea with us.”

“Matt,” I chided. 

“What?” he feigned innocence. 

“Be nice.”

“I am! He’s just a bit of a prat is all.”

“He is not.” 

He was. 

But I couldn’t agree, because to agree would be to give Matthew an opening I didn’t want him to have yet. 

And I’d enjoyed the things dating Tom had brought me, the meals and gifts. 

The attention. 

From both him and Matthew.

And, though he wasn’t terribly skilled, Tom was definitely willing to listen to my direction in bed. 

He was sweet, really. And there were times when I felt myself almost in love with him. 

Certainly I was immensely fond of him. He was always kind, always gentlemanly. Always appreciative of my wit. He wasn’t terribly clever himself, but he never failed to laugh when I made some cutting observation about one of our professors, or a pithy comment about someone’s fashion choices. 

But, then Matthew would come into the room, or call me, or make a joke, and I’d remember how his lips had felt against mine, the music of some cover band muffled by the shell of the Amphitheater we were hiding behind.

Before I found out about Robin. 

So, we’d all spent our holidays apart. 

I’d made up reasons I couldn’t get away from my family, to Tom, and to Matthew, when he’d called late on Christmas Eve, and when we’d all met back up at the start of the new term Matthew had made sure he’d been the first to hug and kiss me. 

“How’s Robin?” I’d asked sweetly. The treacle practically glossing the lips I’d just pressed to his cheek, just to the side of the corner of his mouth. 

His answer had been short, “Fine.”

And I knew I was close. 

That single word. Almost bitten off.

He’d be free for the taking before long. 

But then, right before midterms he’d shown up, ashen faced, at my room. He’d been shaking and pale. Unable to focus. I’d thought he’d been mugged or was getting sick. 

“Robin’s…” he’d trailed off, choking on sobs as he nearly collapsed against me.

“What? God! Matt?” I’d held him, stroking his hair and making soothing noises until he’d calmed down slightly. 

But the whole time, my mind was racing. 

Surely she wasn’t dead. 

That wasn’t what I wanted. 

I liked her. 

Really. 

I just hated that she had what I wanted. 

I was sure we’d have been friends if it hadn’t been for the fact that we were both desperately in love with the same man. 

But, I’d never once wished her dead.

“She’s been attacked,” he sniffled.

“Attacked? Is she OK?” I was completely nonplussed. What did he mean ‘attacked’?

“She’d been out late last night, studying with her friends at the pub,” he tearfully explained. “She walked home alone, you see. He was hiding in the stairwell under her building.”

And suddenly I knew. 

And I retched.

Because no woman wants to think of that. 

“He dragged her down there. And..and…” 

He couldn’t say it and I couldn’t blame him. 

“And then he choked her.”

“Oh my God Matt! He didn’t…” I was dashing away tears, completely devastated for him, for her. 

“No. Thank Christ, no,” his head dropped into his hands, moaning softly, clearly in pain. “But he nearly did. Linda said she told the police she’d played dead. He...you know.”

I did. 

“...and then she played dead.”

He stood up and started pacing my room, his tears becoming angry ones, his fists clenched, shoulders flexing, nostrils flaring in impotent rage. 

“She played dead, Sarah. And he…”

I couldn’t move. I was rooted to my bed, completely in shock. The pain and anger and fear radiated off him in waves. 

I couldn’t help but feel horrible for Robin. 

She hadn’t deserved this.

No one did. 

And Matthew didn’t deserve this either. 

The pain of knowing someone he loved had been attacked so brutally. So mercilessly. It was horrifying to think about as someone who had only met her one time. I could only imagine how painful it must be for him. 

“Is she home? Do you need to…”

“Yeah. No,” he shook his head, obviously confused by my question, lost in his own thoughts. “Sorry.”

“It’s OK,” I waved it away. “Can I help at all? In any way?”

And I meant it. I wanted to help.  
Anyone would have.

“She’s in hospital still. Her mum, Linda?” he clarified, though I’d already assumed. “Called to let me know,” he took a deep breath. “I’m taking the train up late tonight.”

“I’ll go with you to the station,” I offered. 

It was the least I could do. 

Poor Robin. 

How scary to think she could have been walking along, not a care in the world, and then...everything shattered. 

I walked with him back to his room, my arm through his, but only for comfort. 

I helped him pack, making sure he had his toothbrush and toiletries. 

He was so distracted, I practically packed everything for him. 

I couldn’t think of any other way to help and I wanted, very much, to help. 

It didn’t matter that she was the one obstacle to my heart’s desire. 

She was hurt and she needed him. 

I couldn’t begrudge her that. 

Ever.

I went to the station with him, promising over and over that I’d take a cab back, so I wouldn’t be alone in the dark, like Robin had been, that I’d text him when I was in my room and safe. 

But I didn’t want him to be alone until he had to be. 

He needed comfort, someone to talk to.

I could at least do that.

For him.

For her.

Standing on the platform he wrapped me in a tight hug, resting his cheek on top of my head, and even though I tried not to, I couldn’t help enjoying how it felt, being held by him that way again. 

I knew it was wrong. But I couldn’t help it. 

I still loved him.

His arms were twined around me.

My hair catching in his stubble. 

His train was announced and he began to pull away, his arm stretching out to reach for his suitcase.

I tiptoed up to kiss his cheek.

But his head turned at the last moment, and our lips met, for just a fraction of a second. 

I apologized, and he chuckled wryly, “S’ok...Goodness knows it wasn’t the first time.”

“No. I suppose not,” I said, glancing down at my shoes, trying to avoid the guilt we both felt in that moment.

But also trying not to feel the impression of his lips on mine. 

“You’ll tell Robin I’m thinking of her, will you? That I’ll keep her in my prayers? Yeah?”

“‘Course I will,” he said, nodding, as he manfully dashed tears from his eyes before they could fall. 

“Be careful.”

“You too.”

He waved. 

And then he was gone.


	2. August II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues the previous chapter inspired by _august_ by Taylor Swift, from her new album _folklore_.
> 
> You can find the lyric video for it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nn_0zPAfyo8).

_And I can see us twisted in bedsheets  
August sipped away like a bottle of wine  
Cause you were never mine_

These days feel so familiar. The waiting and the hoping and the agony of not knowing if he was going to call. 

Not knowing if Tom was going to find out. 

Hoping Tom found out.

And hoping he didn’t.

Tom.

Sweet Tom. 

Balding and sensitive about it.

But still so kind and sweet, if a little more dopey. 

I’ve come to learn how to love him, how to appreciate his solidness, his capacity for caring.

He blundered about and into my heart somehow, over the years, when I wasn’t looking.

I’ve always hated sneaking around behind his back. 

Don’t think I haven’t.

He didn’t deserve it.

Ever.

When Matthew came back from visiting Robin he was shattered. When Tom and I met him at the station, he was more than travel worn, his normally tidy hair sticking up all over the place, as though he’d been tearing it out on the train. 

His clothes were wrinkled and could have done with a wash. But I suppose he'd have been much more focused on Robin.

His eyes, those lovely, hazel eyes, were haunted. 

Dark circles from lack of sleep bruised his lower lids.

I gasped as we saw him walking toward us at the station, he looked that haggard. 

He’d been gone for two weeks. 

During that two weeks Tom and I had gone to all of his professors, explaining to them what had happened. 

We’d been sitting together, in the pub, not really talking to each other. The spectre of Robin haunting both of us. 

Tom had loved her. Had found her witty and cheerful and kind, all the things she was. He’d had no reason to dislike her after all. And he was genuinely concerned for her. 

And Matthew of course. 

But, we’d been in the pub for a while, nursing our drinks and just being quiet together, when he said, softly, “I wonder if Matt thought to email his professors. Do you know? Did he tell you?”

He hadn’t.

“Maybe we should tell them, just in case?” I asked.

“Do you think?”

“Well...I don’t want to...be impolite,” I started. I didn’t want to go around telling tales about Robin being assaulted. But I also didn’t want Matthew to reap any consequences that we could avert if we explained why he’d had to leave so suddenly and with no notice. 

“Of course not. But we really should be sure,” Tom argued. “He’d do it for one of us, if we’d had to rush away...for an emergency...you know?”

Sweet Tom. 

I took his hand, squeezing it warmly and laid my head on his shoulder, comforting both of us. 

“He would.”

And so, the next day, we went to each of his professors in between our classes, Tom managing to get his Business Law and Ethics professors, since they had those classes together, while I spoke with his Auditing and Economics professors.   
We’d agreed we’d try to be as vague as possible about what had happened. But I had to be blunt with his Economics professor, as she was unwilling to accept my word that he hadn’t missed her test for no reason and was insisting that he’d receive a negative mark. 

“Professor Haig, I’m being vague for a reason,” I tried to be firm, but kind. “It’s a private matter, but it’s an emergency. He  _ had _ to go home, and he didn’t tell me whether he’d let any of his professors know, so I’m just trying to help him, so he doesn’t come back to a bad situation after dealing with what he’s dealing with.”

“Miss, I understand, but I can’t take your word for it that it’s an emergency. This test was a crucial one. He missed it.”

“Please, I understand, and I know he’ll be devastated that he missed it,” I pleaded. “But I swear to you, he’d have been here if this hadn’t happened. If he hadn’t been  _ desperatel _ y needed at home.”

“Was there a death in his immediate family?”

“No ma’am. It wasn’t that. Thank goodness.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t allow him to make up the test, or any of the course work he’s missed.”

She was being so unreasonable, so unfair, completely unwilling to be sympathetic, and I was so worried, afraid that Matthew would come back and discover that he was failing, through no fault of his own, I burst out, “For fucks sake, ma’am! His girlfriend was attacked and raped and left for dead.”

I saw her open her mouth, her eyes wide with shock, her quiet gasp, but I steamed on, my anger refusing to abate, not just at her refusal to be reasonable, but because she’d forced me to do the one thing I didn’t want to do. 

Privacy, especially in this situation, was the only thing Robin had left. 

For now.

And I hadn’t wanted to violate it. 

“She was attacked ma’am. At her own university. She was still in hospital when he left the night before last. Surely you can understand that he wants to  _ be with her, _ ” I nearly shouted the last few words, shocking even myself with my vehemence. 

“I’m sorry ma’am. Please forgi…” I began, trying hastily, to apologize, for my language, for almost yelling at her. Desperately afraid she’d surely hold that, too, against Matthew. 

But she held up a hand, stopping me mid apology. 

“I’m sorry Miss…”

“Shadlock”

“Miss Shadlock. I apologize,” she said, stepping toward me and laying a hand on my arm, her voice soft, “I’ll need to speak with him when he comes back to class.”

“Thank you ma’am,” I gasped, closing my eyes in relief.

“But please, let him know, I’m thinking of him, and his girlfriend, and that of course I’ll do whatever I can to help him.” And with a final pat on my arm, and a bolstering look, she strode off down the hall. 

When Tom and I met up that evening we called Matthew’s phone, which, unsurprisingly, went straight to voicemail, and left him a message, letting him know that we’d spoken with each of his professors, and that all he needed to do was email them once he was back in Bath. 

Four hours later, as I was getting ready for bed, my phone buzzed with a text message from him 

_ Thank you. I’d forgotten. _

I responded,

_ It’s OK. We were happy to do it.  _

Then after a quick debate, 

_ How’s Robin? _

I hadn’t expected my phone to buzz in my hand.

He was calling me. 

“Hi,” I almost whispered. 

“Hi,” his voice was equally quiet, and I couldn’t help but picture him at her bedside still. His hand holding hers, connecting the three of us, in some way. 

“How’re you doing?” I asked hesitantly.

“It’s...God, Sarah...She’s just…” he gasped out a sob. 

“Oh, Matt.”

I heard him sniff. 

Then sigh. Gathering himself.

“She’s still in hospital. They say she’s going to be fine. Physically at least.”

“Are you there now?” 

I had to know.

“No. No. Linda insisted I needed to get some rest.” 

He didn’t sound pleased about it. 

“She’s right. You know she is.”

“I don’t have to like it.”

“No. I suppose you don’t.”

“God, Sarah. She’s a mess. He really messed her up.”

“Have they caught him?” 

I hoped so. 

God I hoped so. 

“They think so. But they’re hoping she’ll be able to give a bit more evidence tomorrow.”

“Evidence?” 

“Yeah. He wore a mask and apparently he’d attacked a couple other girls earlier in the week. A gorilla mask. Can you imagine?” 

I assumed the question was rhetorical, because, no, I didn’t  _ want _ to imagine. 

“But Robin, my clever girl.” There was no mistaking the pride in his voice.

“She noticed a few things about him that may help confirm his identity. So they want to question her one more time, just to be sure,” he explained.

He had every right to be proud. 

She  _ had _ been clever. 

To keep her wits enough to not only make him think he’d killed her, but to notice details about him as well. 

It was astounding. 

“So she’s supposed to be released tomorrow, but the detective inspector will interview her there, before she leaves. They want to keep her comfortable, you know.”

“Of course they do. Poor thing. Is she…”

“It hurts her to talk much.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, her throat’s pretty bruised, so...” he trailed off again.

“Oh Matt. I’m so sorry. I hate this for you two,” I couldn’t hold back the sniffle. It was so sad. 

The poor thing. 

“I know. And listen, thank you so much, really. I’d completely forgotten about classes,” he said, with an air of wanting to change the subject.

“That’s all down to Tom really. He realized, last night, that you may not have had a chance to let your professors know what had happened, and we just...decided to…” I paused, worried about my encounter with Professor Haig. “We tried to be discrete, and not go into specifics, to protect Robin’s privacy you see.”

“That was very kind. I know she’ll appreciate it.”

“Except, well, Professor Haig wasn’t listening, so I had to be a tad blunt with her,” I paused, waiting for a response. When none came, “I’m so sorry. But I didn’t know…”

“No. Sarah, listen. It’s OK. Really. If you had to you had to.”

“If she’d been more agreeable…”

“She’s not. She’s too full of herself.” 

His tone made it clear that he didn’t like her. 

“Well, unfortunately you missed a test that she said was pretty important.”

He bit off a muffled oath. “I forgot all about that.”

“But I talked her round to letting you make it up. She said you just need to come see her when you come back to class.”

“You’re a bloody marvel Sarah. You really are.”

And for the first time since he’d called, I smiled. 

And then, a few weeks later, there he was, rumpled and pinched, rolling his bag toward us. Letting it go, to clasp me to him in a hug, as he reached out to shake Tom’s outstretched hand. 

Tom took over the management of his bag, as we made our way out of the station, Matthew’s arm still around my shoulder, my arm around his waist. 

“You look a mess,” I said. 

“I feel a mess.”

“Have you eaten?” Tom asked.

“No. Not since Masham. But I could do.”

“Chippy it is then,” Tom declared, with an air of cheer, trying to bolster Matthew’s spirits, as we reached the car we’d driven to the station. He popped the boot open, stowing the suitcase inside, while Matthew and I got in the car. 

I took the backseat so Matthew could lean the seat back, which he did, almost immediately, sighing with fatigue, his hand clinging to mine, resting on his shoulder..

Tom got in the driver's seat, started the car and slowly pulled out into the street and within minutes we were seated in the Cod Down Chippy. 

Matthew devoured a mess of cod with chips, while Tom filled him in on what he’d missed in their Ethics and Business Law classes. Offering him the notes he’d taken and reassuring him that both professors had been understanding of the situation, though they didn’t quite know exactly what the situation had been. 

I listened quietly, nibbling on a small order of chips and just happy to have Matthew sitting across from me, even if he was thoroughly exhausted. 

He was thinner, and pale, and so obviously sad. 

He glanced over and caught me looking at him, so I smiled softly, just trying to reassure him, I guess. 

Let him know that I was there, if he needed me. 

He nodded, as though he understood. 

It was always like that between us. 

Reading each other's glances, a kind of perfect understanding. 

And I think that’s why it was hard for me to give up the dream that he’d eventually be mine.

I went to bed that night happier than I’d been in two weeks, just knowing he was back in Bath and that I was going to see his face the following day.

And that was all I needed to be happy. 

Just the gift of his presence.

The next weeks passed in a blur of classes and residual grief.

The three of us ate together pretty much every night. 

A tiny little family, bonded around each other.

Taking care of each other. 

Eventually, Matthew started smiling easier, though there were definitely still clouds in his eyes, and it was easy to tell when he’d talked to Robin.

I could see the pain and the strain in his face.

And I felt for them both, so much.

He told us one evening, after he’d had a few pints that she wasn’t able to leave her parents house in Masham now. 

And preferred to not even leave her bedroom, though her parents tried to coax her out at least once a day. 

I could understand it, but I could also see how hard it was on Matthew, to know that he couldn’t be there for her, to not know how to really help her. 

I could sense his frustration with the situation. 

Not at Robin, mind you. 

He just felt like he was wasting his time here in Bath, when he could have been there with her.

Supporting her.

But he knew his education was important and he couldn’t shirk it. 

More than once I found him waiting for me outside one of my lectures, shoulders hunched, face nearly buried in his coat collar, eyes filled with agony. And each time I’d walk with him, letting him talk, because it seemed to help him process things and it made me feel like I was helping them both.

I promise you, I didn’t intend for what happened to happen. 

I really didn’t.

I was just trying to be a good friend.

I came out of my Renaissance Painters 101 lecture one Tuesday and nearly tripped over him sitting on the steps to the building. Usually he’d wait for me under the beech tree in the park in front of the building. 

Today though, he was hunched over, his arms wrapped around his knees, head bowed. I laid my hand on his head, his hair soft and cool against my fingers, and he looked up. 

It was obvious from the redness rimming his eyes that he’d been crying. And I knew that he wouldn’t want to walk, the way we usually did and chance anyone but me seeing him this devastated. 

“Come on. We’ll go back to mine. Have some tea, yeah?” 

He stood, nodding and wiping his face, and with a deep and shuddering sigh he fell into step beside me. I slipped my arm through his and laid my head against his shoulder as we walked. Knowing that he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. 

He just needed quiet and a safe place. 

We arrived at my room shortly, and after setting my school bag and handbag down, and hanging up my coat, I immediately flicked the kettle on, turning over the Monet mug he’d bought me for my birthday, and putting a teabag in it. 

He’d hung his coat next to mine and lowered himself to the foot of my bed, still silent. Lost in his own thoughts. 

I bustled around, making his tea, with milk and a bit of sugar as he liked it and brought it to him, sitting down next to him.

He accepted the mug and after taking a quick sip, lowered it to dangle between his legs as he braced his elbows on his knees.

I did the only thing I knew to do and just rubbed his back, waiting and giving him the time and silence he seemed to crave. 

After a few moments he seemed to realize I wasn’t holding a mug of tea, and so he passed me his.

We liked it the same way, so I took a sip and tried to hand it back to him, but he shook his head. 

“Would you mind if I laid down?” he asked. And he looked so tired, so defeated by grief, I nodded and stood to tug the coverlet down.

He slipped his shoes off and crawled in, turning to face me. 

I tucked him in and bent to kiss his forehead, smoothing his hair off his forehead, near tears myself at the desolation rolling off him.

When I straightened back up his eyes were closed. 

So I let him rest. 

I pulled out my books and studied the chapters I’d need for tomorrow’s lectures. 

I texted Tom and let him know I was staying in.

I didn’t tell him Matthew was in my bed. 

He would have understood, and it wouldn’t have been an issue. 

I promise. 

And that was the only reason I didn’t tell him, because it truly wouldn’t have mattered. 

We’d all crashed in each other’s rooms at one point or another throughout the year, but they both tended to prefer my room, probably because I kept tea and fresh milk, and it was tidy. 

Tom texted back to let me know he’d grab me food if I needed it, but I declined. 

I wasn’t hungry.

Matthew slept on. 

Around ten o’clock, when my eyes were crossing over the finer details of Titian's,  _ Venus of Urbino,  _ I slipped out to brush my teeth in the loo down the hall and to change into my pyjamas. 

He hadn’t moved at all when I got back to my room. 

And I was loath to disturb him when he was finally resting so well, so I did what I’d done a couple times before and just slid in next to him, set my alarm, turned off the light, and with my back to him, I went to sleep. 

I don’t know what time it was when I felt his lips against the back of my neck. 

I thought I was dreaming. 

I’d had similar dreams before.

Being in love with him the way I was, he was almost always in my dreams. 

By the time I realized I  _ wasn’t _ dreaming, we were half naked and wrapped tightly against each other. 

It was instinct, and need, and comfort, and love. 

I loved him. 

When my alarm went off the next morning, his head was on my chest, one of his legs thrown over mine. 

He was sound asleep. 

I brushed his hair back, whispering, “Matt, wake up.”

He nuzzled his face against me, his eyelids fluttering slowly open. 

And I watched as he realized where he was.

What had happened. 

He scrambled up, an apology on his lips.

But I shook my head, reaching out for his hand, “It’s OK. I won’t tell anyone.”

He nodded. 

And I could still see the apology in his eyes. 

He hadn’t meant it. 

I hadn’t either. 

But I also couldn’t regret it. 

That one time turned into eighteen months. 

Eighteen months of Robin recovering, gaining ground, then losing it, and struggling to put herself back together after she’d been ripped apart, by a man named Oliver Trewin, and his lawyers, and the courts. 

Eighteen months of guilt.

Eighteen months of beautiful moments I could never tell anyone else about. 

Eighteen months of wishing things could be different. 

Eighteen months of crying when he left, because I knew he couldn’t leave her for me now, because she needed him so badly, and I couldn’t resent that. 

God knows I couldn’t resent that. 

Eighteen months of getting closer to him as he got farther away. 

Eighteen months of wishing he was mine. 

But he wasn’t.

I don’t regret it though. 

I know I should. 

We lied. 

We were selfish. 

I lost track of the number of times I had to stop myself from reaching out to him in front of Tom. 

The number of times I wanted to call him mine when I talked to my mother on the phone.

But he wasn’t mine. 

Not really. 

And when it finally ended…

When he went back to Masham for good, after the pomp of graduation…

When Tom and I went back to London…

I had to work hard to convince myself that he wasn’t mine to begin with, so he couldn’t be mine to lose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the mug Matthew gave Sarah [here](https://store.metmuseum.org/monet-brushstroke-mug-80044957?gclid=CjwKCAjw34n5BRA9EiwA2u9k3605rTtZbSMN-OKJdF0z8tw6GmNqpjeq62sy1TNBXTr_5olzjDwBtBoCb8cQAvD_BwE).
> 
> And more on _Venus of Urbino_ [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venus_of_Urbino).


	3. illicit affairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this chapter from [illicit affairs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MLV2SJKWk4M) on the album _folklore_ by Taylor Swift.

_ And that's the thing about illicit affairs  
And clandestine meetings  
And longing stares  
It's born from just one single glance  
But it dies, and it dies, and it dies  
A million little times _

After graduation Tom and I went back to London. We stayed a couple, but I spent countless nights, in that first year, missing Matthew. 

He kept in touch with both of us. Texts and calls and Facebook posts filled with news from our respective lives, sharing our achievements and exciting events. 

Matthew got a job in Harrogate at a small accountancy firm and slowly started climbing the ladder there. He kept us up to date with how Robin was recovering, now that he was back home, and we were all genuinely pleased when she accepted a job as an assistant event coordinator at a company owned by a friend of her mothers. Matthew was delighted that it seemed she was finally able to move on and put her ordeal behind her. 

Meanwhile, Tom had been snapped up almost immediately after graduation, by a very prestigious firm and I spent a couple years working in galleries before accepting a role at the National Gallery that, I hoped, would put me directly on the path to Christie’s. 

For four years Facebook, phone calls and texts were the only contact between us and Matthew.. 

Four years I spent relaxing into my relationship with Tom. 

Four years I spent realizing that Tom was exactly what I wanted. 

He spoke such a different language than Matthew. It was full of small gestures that added up to an almost whole hearted love for him. 

He was so understanding and trusting. 

Proud of my every achievement. 

Always excited to introduce me to his work colleagues at company do’s. Excited to tell them that  _ his _ girlfriend worked for the National Gallery, deciding what went on display and what got removed, curating and creating exhibits and handling history every day. 

If I had to work late, he never got suspicious, just wanted to know if I wanted him to bring me dinner, or if I’d prefer he come and meet me when I'd finished for the day and take me to dinner after. 

He was always so considerate and amiable. 

He was comfortable and kind and so very loving. 

Not just to me either. 

He loved my mother. He doted on her. Always asking after her, bringing her small gifts when he came to dinner, flowers, chocolates, wine...but things he knew she’d appreciate.

“He’s been raised right,” she’d say to me. “Manners’ve been bred into that one. You need to marry him.”

And she was right. 

He was so well mannered. 

And we were a perfect couple. 

We moved in together at the beginning of 2009, just after he’d been promoted to junior partner and I’d just made a contact at Christie’s who was hinting strongly that they might have an opening soon. 

I was confident an engagement was just months away and was looking forward to it, to planning a wedding and marrying my Tom. 

Between the two of us we’d achieved nearly everything we’d hoped to and our future was so bright and rosy and if not exciting, that at least assured, safe. 

But then…Tom arrived home a bit late one evening in July, flushed with excitement, nearly dancing with joy. 

“Matthew’s moving to London, my Berry,” he’d crowed when I laughingly asked what had him so excited. 

I nearly dropped the wine I’d just poured him. The glass rattling on the countertop, rolling on the edge of the foot and nearly tilting over. I caught it just before it tilted and only a tiny amount sloshed out. 

“Oh?” I aimed for airy, and I think I made it, but if Tom had seen my face just then, I wouldn’t have.

“Yeah, one of the firm’s contractors needed to fill a spot and I thought of Matt immediately. He’d mentioned wanting to get to London and out of Harrogate and it seemed perfect.”

He sipped at the wine I passed him, then bit into one of the grapes I’d put out in a bowl with cheese while we waited for our dinner to heat in the oven. 

“You hadn’t mentioned,” I replied. 

And he hadn’t. 

Not a word. 

From either of them. 

“We weren’t sure it was going to work out, and we didn’t want to get your hopes up,” he patted my hand, while I bit back hysterical laughter. 

I’d never thought about this. 

Matthew had mentioned wanting to live in London after uni quite often in the three years we’d been with each other, especially during the eighteen months we’d spent sleeping together behind Tom and Robin’s backs. He’d always had expensive taste and made no bones about the fact that he wanted to live well. 

But for him to decide to make it happen, this long after graduation, was incredibly surprising. 

I’d assumed, after so long, that he’d abandoned this plan. Maybe Robin didn’t want to move. Maybe she couldn’t.  
Even though it shouldn’t have been surprising, it was. 

And, almost before I’d prepared myself for it, he was there, his suitcases piled in our boot as he thumped Tom on the back, in one of those weird hybrid hugs that men give each other, before kissing my cheek and smiling at me with his beautifully even teeth and sparkling hazel eyes. 

And in that smile was a wealth of memories.

The smile he’d given me the day we’d met. 

The first time he’d kissed me, awkward and slightly fumbling, after he’d walked me back to my halls. 

The laughing smiles we’d shared behind Tom’s back, anytime he’d been characteristically stuffy. 

The sleepy smiles and grins when we’d been in bed together. 

And the sexy and sneaky smiles he’d aim at me in front of Tom, trying to get a rise out of me. 

I discovered that I wasn’t as prepared as I’d thought I was. 

But he was here now, and there wasn’t much more I could do, other than return the kiss and wait for his response when Tom asked, “How’s Robin?”

“She’s great! I’m going to get settled in here, and then she’s going to follow me down at the first of the year,” he said, avoiding my eyes. 

“Oh that’s lovely!” I exclaimed, clasping my hands together in front of me. “I can’t wait to take her to lunch.”

I could, obviously, but Tom would have expected this response and I knew I had to dissemble. Tom loved her after all. And I could only assume that we’d be spending quite a bit of time in her company once she’d moved here. 

Matthew explained that she’d been working for a friend of the family, in Masham, as an assistant event planner, for the last few years, and had fully recovered from her ordeal. 

I was glad to hear that. 

I swear it. 

I’d thought of her often in the intervening four years. 

Her attack had acted as a lesson for me, teaching me to be aware of my surroundings, and I’d even taken a few self defense courses, just to be prepared. 

But it never really left my mind, and there was a part of me that was sure it never really left hers. 

But they were ready to restart and had decided it made the most sense to do it in a place both of them had no real experiences in. 

Within two weeks Matthew had moved into his flat in Clapham and had enlisted me to help him get it furnished. 

The three of us spent weekends wandering furniture shops and putting together shelves and bookcases, eating takeaway and laughing together. 

We quickly fell into the old patterns from uni. Tom and I together as a couple, with Matthew the seeming third wheel. 

But he still caught my eye each time Tom touched me, his eyes possessive and lit with challenge. 

By September Matthew had started meeting me for lunch, initially just because he didn’t know anyone else and Tom wasn’t always available. 

Toward the end of October, Tom had to travel on business. He was going to be away for Halloween, and the fancy dress party we threw, that had become a tradition with our work colleagues. While at dinner with Matthew, the night before Tom was to depart on his trip, Tom asked me what I’d decided, so that he could let his colleagues know whether or not it was happening this year. 

“A party?” Matthew asked, his eyes lighting up with interest. 

“Yeah. Sarah loves Halloween,” Tom chuckled and I while I nodded enthusiastically with my mouth full of noodles. “She threw a party the first Halloween after she moved out of her mom’s house,” he continued. 

“It was meant to be a lark. Just something to celebrate moving out on my own,” I picked up the story. “I only invited some of my work colleagues and some of our friends,” I explained.

“But I asked if I could invite a few of my work friends,” Tom joined in. 

“And before I knew it, my flat was filled with close to fifty people, all in fancy dress, and it was a proper bash. And the following year I had friends and colleagues asking if I was going to have the do again,” I shrugged. “So it became a yearly thing, and to answer your question Tom, I don’t really want to do it alone, so I suppose I’ll cancel.” 

“Too bad, but yes, probably for the best. I’ll let the chaps know.” He pulled out his phone and started typing, I assume to send the email letting his friends know there wasn’t to be a party this year, but Matthew interjected.

“What if I helped?”

“I’m sorry,” I coughed, dislodging the noodle that had suddenly stuck in my throat at his words.

Tom paused his typing and glanced up, brows furrowed in confusion, and Matthew, glancing between us, continued, “I’m still new to Town. And I could do with making a few new friends. Not to mention the networking that happens at this sort of party,” he shrugged, then glancing at Tom, “If you’re alright with it, I’d be happy to help Sarah with the party.”

Now he glanced at me, his forkful of noodles gesturing toward me, “If you’d like, I mean.”

And Tom was so delighted with this offer that I felt I had no choice but to agree. 

“There’s a chap!” he crowed, clapping Matthew on the back. 

A week later, I opened the door, in my Tavern Maid costume, to find Matthew, dressed as Robin Hood, on the doorstep. I’d told Matt he should invite some of his colleagues as well, since he was going to be hosting with me, and he’d agreed to arrive a bit earlier than the start time so that he could help me organise the food and drink stations. And within an hour we were laughing and drinking and handing out candy to kids while surrounded by our colleagues and friends. 

Matthew was charming, as only he could have been. 

“Oh no! I’m just filling in for Tom,” he’d said, as I’d introduced him to my co-worker, Lottie, who for some reason asked if I was Maid Marian, before asking if Tom and I had broken up. “I probably should have dressed up as him,” Matt had joked.

He’d filled Tom’s shoes that night, in myriad different ways, and by November our lunches had turned into weekly liaisons in random hotels. 

It had happened so fast and so easily that it almost scared me. 

And so many times it felt like he’d only moved to London to be closer to me. 

More than once he’d murmur, “I’ve missed this,” as he nuzzled my neck, or kissed the inside of my thigh.

I felt lost. 

Torn between what I  _ knew _ was right and what  _ felt _ right.

I knew it was wrong to do this again, to cheat on Tom.

But Matthew’s arms were where I felt I belonged most. 

We were so well matched in bed, in temperament, in goals and ambition. 

I didn’t understand why he insisted on staying with Robin. 

But he did. 

And I feared losing him enough that I never made a big deal about it. 

I preferred to just ignore her existence, pretending she didn’t exist, during those moments with Matthew wrapped around me. 

But inevitably she arrived in late January. 

Matthew helped her find a temping agency to help her get work in London, and she worked in a few different offices for a few days, while still trying to organise interviews at more prestigious employers. 

In February, Matthew proposed. 

I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was when we met them for drinks and Matthew told us, dragging Robin’s hand toward us to show us the sapphire and diamond engagement ring. After all, they’d been together for almost ten years. 

But it was. 

That night, with her eyes shining, his smile gleaming and Tom excitedly ordering round after round of congratulatory champagne, was one of the most devastating nights of my life. 

But Robin was with us now. 

And they were engaged. 

And I went home that night, determined to end things with him, once and for all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah's costume can be found [here](https://www.halloweencostumes.com/womens-tavern-wench.html).


End file.
